


I'll Always Pick You Up

by cumberbabeswillrise



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dark Sherlock, F/M, rapist sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumberbabeswillrise/pseuds/cumberbabeswillrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper was a victim now. Sherlock Holmes had taken her sanity from her and was now toying with it in front of her. Her boyfriend Jim tries to help, but can Molly Hooper ever feel safe again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Molly Hooper had grown out of her timid shell in the past few years. She'd gotten engaged, then ended it herself. _Her._ Molly Hooper, had ended something because she wanted to. Molly had taken control of her life. She'd succeeded in becoming the person her mother told her she'd never be.

Life was good. Life was happy. Until Sherlock Holmes came into the picture.

He had entered Molly Hooper's flat through the back room window. His footsteps were quiet, he knew every creak and crack in the floor. Sherlock pushed open the bedroom door where Molly slept. Her hair fanned out around her head, the soft brown smoothly gleaming in the moonlight.

Molly Hooper's left hand was curled underneath her side, the other under her cheek. Her breathing was slow, quiet. Sherlock watched her birdlike chest, searching for signs of life. He moved to her bed, brushing a stray hair from her face.

Molly stirred, her eyes meeting Sherlock's. He grinned at the shock on her face as she looked at him. Terror blossomed in her eyes, and Sherlock was aroused.

“W-who are you?” she stuttered, her jaw trembling, “How did you get in here?”

“Oh, Molly,” he cooed, stroking her cheekbone, “details aren't important. All that matters is that I'm here now.”

“Get out. Leave me alone!” she screamed and tried to move from the bed, but Sherlock pinned her back down with ease. He chuckled darkly, the hunger in his eyes terrified Molly to the core.

“You may as well enjoy it,” he breathed into her ear, “You can't stop it anyways.”


	2. Chapter 2

 She was a victim now. A victim. Independent Molly Hooper was now a victim. Victims were dependent. She was dependent.

“Molly, I'm here for you,” her boyfriend Jim whispered into her ear. He had found Molly curled up in bed, naked, bruised, and alone. Rope burns encircled her wrist, and fingertip bruises lined her stomach and breasts.

Jim was now curled up behind her on the hospital bed. Molly had not spoken in hours, not after she told DI Lestrade what had happened to her while Jim rested his chin on her shoulder. She had not cried, she had not whimpered. Molly Hooper refused to cry in front of Lestrade. They knew each other too well, and she didn't want him to see her this way.

Molly wrapped her small hand around Jim's bigger one. For once, he was being the man in the relationship. Jim was quiet and awkward, much like Molly had been. She figured he just needed time to be more independent, she was wrong; Jim was still afraid of his own shadow.

“I know,” she whispered, staring at the white wall. They had asked her over and over who had attacked her, but she could not tell them, for she did not know. The man she had seen was a stranger to her, but he seemed to know Molly. That's what she told them. The man had called her by name, whispered things into her ear like he'd been intimate with her for years.

She had described him. Cold. Pale, well-muscled. Dark curls that brushed Molly's face as he sweated on top of her. Long fingers that touched her where Jim hadn't, fingers that switched from calm to violent in a matter of seconds. Pain enveloped every minute of it.

She was dirty now. Disgusting. Even though she had hated every minute of the things he did to her, she had become slightly... aroused. Not in a way that she wanted to be with him, like her body couldn't help it. Shouldn't her body have shut down?

“It's perfectly normal, Ms. Hooper,” DI Donovan sighed when Molly came to her, once Jim had finally left to get some coffee, “It's the body's natural response to being touched there. You are not defected, not a horrible person. What happened to you was twisted, but it doesn't have to define you. One day, you will wake up, and you will be almost the way you were before. Not one hundred percent, mind you. He stole something from you, and it will be difficult to get it back. You're going to have nightmares, you'll be scared of the men in your life sometimes, of what they're capable of. It will be difficult to trust people, sex will be hard for awhile. But, someday,” she whispered, her eyes locking on Molly's, “you will take it all back. You will be able to tell him that, yes, he has changed you, but he hasn't ruined you. You will survive it.”

Molly had not said anything. Her head was racing. How could she ever feel good again? How could she ever let Jim come near her, when his incessant cuddling that had been going on all day was making her sick to her stomach? She ached all over.

In the shower, she scrubbed her skin until it was raw, and she smelled entirely of antiseptics and disinfecting body wash. Finally, she cried. She sobbed and screamed into her hands. She cried until her head hurt and she couldn't distinguish tears from the shower stream. She cried in there until Jim came in to check on her.

“Molly.” Jim squatted outside the shower curtain. “Are you okay?”

“I'm great.”

Jim reached his hand inside the curtain, “I promised I'd always be here to pick you up, Molly, remember? Do you remember when I said that? Well, if you don't, it was our last day in Paris. We went to the Louvre, remember? We were staring at the Mona Lisa, pondering the reason she doesn't smile. You said that it was because Da Vinci only wanted her for her beauty, that he'd never actually help her if she, say, fell into a ditch. He'd never lend a hand to pick her up, and that's why she was so sad, because she loved him more than he fancied her. I said I would pull you out of a ditch. Remember, Molly? Well, you've always got my hand. Always. I'll pull you out of Hell if I have to.” Jim's voice broke, and Molly could hear him trying to gather himself, “I just wish I had been there to pull you out. I should have taken you away. I shouldn't have spent the night at the hospital.”

Molly couldn't bear it anymore, she gripped his hand tightly. It kept slipping from the water, but Molly didn't care. She should have given Jim more credit. He wasn't weak, he was strong for everyone but himself.

Jim pulled open the shower curtain, and pulled Molly into him. He held her tightly to his shoulder. “Please, forgive me, Molly. I shouldn't work so much, and I'm sorry that I never seem to do anything right.”

Molly curled herself into his lap. She did remember that day. She remembered getting kissed under the Eiffel Tower, though it was the biggest cliché in the world. Molly had never laughed or smiled to much.

“It was never your fault, Jim. That's all I want to hear about it.” She gripped his shirt tightly in her small hands. “I remember, Jim. I remember every minute of Paris.”

Jim simply held her until the sun came up and the orderly came in to change the bedding, and it was the first time Molly felt okay in days.


	3. Sherlock Holmes

 Molly woke months later on the couch to Greg banging on the door. She groaned and stumbled to the kitchen, first pouring coffee before letting Greg in.

“What do you want this early?” she growled. Her hair was sticking up in all sorts of places, and she saw Greg visibly grimace as she opened the door.

“I've something to show you.” He held up a file, a pitiful-yet hopeful- smile on his face, “We found him.”

Molly's heart crashed against her chest. Did she want to know the identity of the man who stole her life? Did she want to know his face even more clearly than she knew in her memories? She didn't know. But did she want to watch him suffer? Hell yes.

She sighed and let him through the door. He went straight to the couch. Greg had sat there every time he came to conduct an interview. It had been three months, but Greg refused to give up looking for her attacker.

“Now, I haven't read it yet. I wanted to look at it with two pairs of fresh eyes. We're going to catch him, and we're going to make him suffer. I promise. This guy's going down.” Greg's eyes were twinkling with excitement. Molly tried to be as enthusiastic.

Greg set the file on her coffee table, let out a breath and, giving her one last look, opened the file.

The photo that dominated the first page was that of dark curls. Sea blue eyes with flecks of gorgeous gold smirked up at her. His high cheekbones seemed alien-like and beautiful. She hadn't expected him to look so clean cut. He reminded her of Jim, with a bit of polish and wax, of course.

“Sherlock Holmes, age thirty six.” Greg stared at the picture. “Holmes. I know that name...” His eyes widened. “Oh. _Oh._ ”

“Who is he, Greg?” Tears filled her eyes. Greg seemed nervous. Sherlock Holmes was high up in the corporate food chain, she thought, they'd never get a conviction.

“Uhm... it's just... I know his brother. We, uh, had a couple encounters.” Greg shook his head. “I'm sorry, Molly. I need to go.” He pushed past her toward the door.

“Wait,” she blubbered, “I thought you could get him. He _raped me_ , Greg. He stalked me and snuck into my flat late in the night. He tied me down and he defiled my body while telling me he loved me. I couldn't fight it at all. He ruined my life and you aren't even going to make him pay for it!” Tears streamed down Molly's cheeks. “Please, Greg, tell me you can do _something_.”

“I-I'm sorry, Molly. I have to go. I promise that I am going to do everything I can to make him pay for what he... did to you.” Greg gave her one last look of pity, then all but ran out the door.


	4. Spawn

 “Molly, calm down,” Jim cooed annoyingly. She was hyperventilating. A panic attack. Damn, only victims had these. She couldn't stand being the victim. “It's going to be okay.”

“ _Okay_? You think that this is okay? I've thrown up three times today Jim, for the past four days, actually. My sense of smell is different. I can't stand to drink tea anymore, I've had to switch to coffee of all things! I'll kill myself.” Molly sobbed in the kitchen.

“No. You won't. Don't leave me here alone. Molly, if you are, then it could be mine. We can raise it. We can get an abortion. Anything you want.” He gripped her shoulders. “I need you. Okay? It's as simple as that: I need you. Please, please don't say you want to kill yourself. Just tell me what to do, Molly, and I'll do it. I'll watch the telly with you whenever you like. I won't complain when you stay up late reading. I promise, just please don't leave.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “I'm not letting this _thing_ grow in my stomach. I'd rather die than let that spawn grow. They arrested him yesterday. His brother works for the government, so they don't think Sherlock will be convicted.”

“He has to be, Molly. He's a monster.”

 


	5. Court Date

 Sherlock Holmes stared at her across the courtroom. He hadn't been able to see her walk into the courtroom. By the time he'd been brought in, Molly Hooper had already been sitting at the witness stand.

He toyed with a pencil, twirling it between his fingers and smiling as she recounted the story of their time together. She wore a green dress that made her eyes look absolutely lovely. Her skin radiant. Sherlock sighed, what he'd give to be with her one more time.

“...and when he was done, he untied me and made me spoon with him. He left a few hours before sunrise.” Her little jaw was set, ever defiant.

“Did you tell him to stop? Did you tell him no?” the prosecutor asked, her eyes sympathetic to Molly Hooper.

“Yes,” Molly whispered.

“And is it confirmed that Sherlock Holmes is the father of the baby you are currently carrying?”

Sherlock's heart stopped in his chest, he couldn't stop himself from standing as Molly murmured, yes. “Baby? My baby?”

“Sherlock, sit down.” Mycroft tugged at Sherlock's jacket.

“Molly, I'll be there, I promise. I'm going to help you.” He smiled at her, he was going to be a father.

To his surprise, Molly stood up. Now, Sherlock could see her large bulging stomach, “You will do nothing. I do not acknowledge you. You don't exist to me. This baby is mine and mine alone to raise. You will never see it. You will go to Hell and I'll be the one to torture you once I arrive.”

“All I ever did was love you, Molly! Why are you doing this?” Sherlock struggled against the guards that were now attempting to pull him out of the courtroom, his anger taking hold. “I'll kill you! You can't keep me away, Molly. I'll find you in the dead of night, that I promise.”

“I'll be waiting.” She stood tall, one hand wrapped around her stomach, the other on her hip. Though she looked solid, Molly Hooper was shaking like a leaf.


End file.
